


The Little Things

by newbie93



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things that Scott does for the people he loves that make them love him back.</p><p>Dumb summary. Sorry. Just a drabble with some sweet interactions between Scott and his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta or anything so all mistakes are my own. Love constructive criticism so let me know what you think!

For Stiles it came with the horrible event that was his mother’s death. 

Despite what people say, knowing it’s coming doesn’t make the death of a loved one any easier to deal with. The six months of mental preparation went flying out the window when the steady blip of his mother’s heart monitor flat-lined. His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened as his own hold on his mother’s hand loosened. The stinging sensation in his eyes was something he had grown familiar with since his mother’s diagnosis. He’d yet to succumb to crying though, it wasn’t the time for Stiles to be the weak twelve year-old that Jackson Whittemore always accused him of being. He’d shrugged his father off of him and pointedly ignored the broken call of, “Stiles,” when he pushed through the door of the hospital room.

The hallway was cold and white, far too white in Stiles’s opinion, and would forever represent death to him. It was pouring outside and Stiles appreciated that mother-nature had been able to do something that he himself couldn’t. He’d stood at the entrance, debating whether or not he could leave his father after his mother had left him, when he saw the lone figure sitting outside on the hospital steps. He knew immediately who it was and let out a strangled gasp when he stepped outside in the frigid rain. No words were needed, apparently his facial expression said it all, because Scott, scrawny, asthmatic, loyal Scott, wrapped his arms around him before he could do or say anything.

All he could really process was how absolutely freezing Scott was. The smaller boy was drenched and Stiles could only imagine how long he’d been sitting alone outside the building. He wrapped his arms around his friend, partially because he wanted to, but mostly because he absolutely needed to. In that one hug, every moment of their friendship flashed before Stile’s eyes and he finally saw every single one of Scott’s actions for what they truly were. Every movie night, video game marathon, and pizza dinner shared between them in the months of his mother’s sickness had been Scott’s surprisingly subtle way of comforting Stiles in the only manner that a twelve year-old kid knew how. 

They’d sat down on the steps, already too wet for the rain to be a problem, and Stiles let Scott wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. It was then that Stiles asked the question that he’d been afraid to ask anyone. “What if I can’t cry at the funeral?” His body had grown numb at that point and he could only focus on the drips of water that trickled down his shoelaces. Scott was quiet, he was always the quieter of the two, and Stiles did his best to patiently await an answer. He’d glanced up Scott and was surprised by the utter seriousness on his friends face. “If you can’t cry at the funeral, then I’ll cry for the both of us.” Stiles couldn’t tell if the water on his friend’s face was caused by the rain, or if the red eyes were caused by the cool November air, but he does remember that in that moment Scott became his brother.

He hadn’t been able to cry while his mother’s casket was lowered into the ground, but Scott made good on his word. His friend’s sniffles were oddly comforting during his moment of stoic strength.

And when Stiles cried everyday for a week, and once a month for a year, and twice a year since that heart monitor went quiet, Scott was right there with him. 

Pizza, movie nights, videogames, and awesome bro-sessions. Nothing special with most people but with a friend like Scott, who knows exactly what said events really do for Stiles, it’s everything.

It’s the little things.

______________________________

 

For Allison it comes with a conversation with the douche that is Jackson Whittemore.

They’re sitting at lunch, her trying to ignore the gaze of her very recent ex and him shooting his own ex smug grins every three minutes. She feels bad about the look of hurt she sees flit across her friend’s face but it’s gone in an instant and Lydia makes a show of feeling the biceps of some kid on the baseball team. Allison watches in wonder. She doesn’t understand how two people who used to spend every moment together can be so malicious.

She’s pondering the demise of the Whittemore/Martin reign when she hears the ridiculous argument that the lacrosse team is now having. Apparently the boys are deciding who managed to take the best and worst driver’s photo. She glances at the lunch table and notices that roughly twelve licenses have been grouped into two piles. She can’t stop the laugh that escapes her lips when she picks up Greenburg’s ID. It’s absolutely horrible. “This one’s got my vote.” She haphazardly throws it back into the pile and only feels slightly guilty when she sees Greenburg cheeks turn red. 

The “best looking” pile has been narrowed down to two and Allison is unsurprised to see Jackson’s ID is still in the running, he is judging after all. She leans across his arm and has to prevent herself from coughing at the overwhelming combination of aftershave and cologne that is wafting off of Jackson. He moves his arm and wraps it around her shoulder giving her a better view of the licenses. She can feel hi head turn, no doubt in Lydia’s direction, and does her best to seem as casual and disinterested as possible. She focuses on the final two and compares Jackson’s smug grin to Danny’s warm smile.

She picks up Jackson’s ID and, just as he’s about to start some sort of victory rant, she tosses it in his lap. She points to Danny, “The clear winner.” The small smile that blossoms on his face is so sweet, she doesn’t have the heart to admit that her actual favorite license shows a crooked smile and squinty brown eyes that are mid blink. Jackson looks at her with disgust and shakes his head, shoving his license at her and pointing out how symmetrical his face is. She pretends to listen and when he’s finally done she merely shrugs her shoulders and says, “What can I say Whittemore? I’ve seen better.”

He scoffs as if it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard and stretches his hand towards her. She quirks her eyebrow, her confusion obvious, and Jackson asks for her license, no doubt to point out all of her photo’s flaws. She rolls her eyes, reaches inside her purse, and tosses her license at him. She watches his face as he takes her license in and realizes her mistake in the exact moment his face changes. “Holy shit! You’re seventeen?!” She snatches the license from his hands and hastily shoves it into her wallet and out of sight. Too late.

The table is staring at her and she feels her cheeks flush. “What, were you held back or something?” She’s heard it countless times before but it still stings. “No? Did… did you have a baby?” Her embarrassment vanishes and is replaced by heated anger. She grabs an apple off the table, slings her bag over her shoulder, and walks away just as Danny kicks Jackson under the table. She’s making quite the exit when her eyes briefly flit over to him.

He’s sitting across from Stiles, who is talking wildly and flailing his arms all over the place, and pushing his food around his plate. His hair is messy and it looks like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in ages. He looks miserable, and sweet. Completely unassuming. She misses him, and as she shoots Jackson one last glare while leaving the cafeteria, she can’t help but remember Scott’s reaction to her age. Complete surprise when she told him about previous guesses, as if he hadn’t pondered the negative ideas for even a second. He sees the best in everyone, and while everybody else sees a secret hidden behind the black 17 on her license, he sees only the truth. 

It’s the little things.

___________________________

 

For Jackson it comes when no one else believes in him.

He’s sitting alone in a police van and all he can think about is the various ways in which he can kill Stiles Stilinski. He’s rich and his dad’s a lawyer. He could probably get away with it. He’s debating the pros and cons of each idea he comes up with when he hears the two idiots, and the one idiot girlfriend, talking outside the truck. He takes a moment to process the fact that he can hear them at all. He really shouldn’t be able to. Unless… unless Stiles is slightly less idiotic than he seems. He laughs and scoffs at the idea.

They’re planning something, something involving him, and he can’t help but take note of the worry and concern in their voices. But they’re not concerned for him, they’re concerned about him. They honestly think he’s a murderous lizard. There’s no doubt in their voices, and no change in their heartbeats. To them, they are saying nothing but the truth. He doesn’t let himself believe them because he doesn’t want to believe them. As heartless as he is, Jackson’s the first to admit that much of his macho act is a charade. Yes, he’s good looking, yes, he’s wealthy, and yes, he’s done some pretty terrible things, but the thought of being a serial killer is too much for even him to handle.

They’re still talking about him but the discussion has moved on to what they should do with him. They don’t want to help him. Not even a little bit. Stiles brings up the fact that his problems were his own fault and as much as he wants to, he can’t disagree. He asked Derek for the bite and now his life has gone to shit. Everything he did was done for the sole purpose of getting something in return. He helped save Derek, helped kill the creep Peter, but he didn’t to it to help. He did it to get. He’s Jackson Whittemore after all, if someone has something he wants, he does everything he can to take it.

Stiles is pushing for his death now and he notices that Allison isn’t exactly spouting any protests. They think they’ll be better off without him. They think that everyone will be better off without him. Kill Jackson. Problem solved. Stiles hates him, Allison has a strong dislike for him, and Scott… Scott is an enigma that has put up with his shit for years and never done anything in return. He’s not surprised that none of them want to help him.

“It doesn’t mean he’s not still worth saving.”

He’s shocked and for a minute he thinks he’s imagined the words. There’s no way in hell McCall would ever choose him over Stilinski. “If we can save him, we should try.” He hears it again and can’t help the rush of emotion that overcomes him.

He has two parents that love him, more money than he knows what to with, and an entire school that worships the ground he walks on. But none of that matters when you’re trapped in a police van listening to all of the horrible things you know you’ve done, and even worse things you may have done. But Scott McCall, dumbass Scott McCall who knows all of the terrible things Jackson’s done, is sticking up for him when no one else ever has. His self-sworn enemy sees something in him that’s worth saving.

It’s the little things.

_____________________________

 

For Lydia it came with a conversation that should have been far more awkward.

She’d stayed late after school to discuss switching into the senior AP math class and sees him awkwardly standing with his bike next to the car she had… borrowed… from her unobservant mother. She’s not surprised to see him, she’d expected to be cornered by him at some point. It’s a week after their locker room kiss and he had pointedly avoided her everyday since then. She feels bad for him. Worse for Allison, who had done nothing wrong yet was none the wiser about Lydia’s actions.

The guilt was a new feeling for her. She’s always been popular but having a genuine friend was something she was still getting used to. Stealing boyfriends used to be a game for her but with Allison it felt like nothing more than betrayal. She hates the feeling and hates the fact that it was something she made Scott feel too. Scott McCall who is the epitome of a sweetheart, a talking puppy with opposable thumbs who had done nothing wrong to Allison, let alone Lydia. And, while Lydia’s chat with Scott in Finstock’s office was merely a ploy to get back at Jackson, she knows that everything she said to him was the truth. Lydia Martin is a genius, and Scott McCall is a hero who risked his life to save his friends.

When she finally reaches him, she’s regained her composure and knows that she is showing no weakness. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms, hoping to convey her false irritation. Scott takes the bait and begins to babble, apologizing to her and telling her that he’ll only be a minute. She nods her head and inspects her nail polish as she gestures for him to continue.

“I umm. I just wanted to apologize for the other week.” This piques her interest and is the first thing she can remember being truly confused about. “I, well, I really love Allison. Like, I love her a lot and… I feel like I kind of took advantage of you and I’m just really sorry.” Lydia’s mouth drops open and is shocked at the fact that it’s Scott McCall, the boy who’s failing remedial English, who says something that she can’t understand. “I just, I was really upset about the break-up and it was kind of a weird day for me, and I love her and I feel bad and wish I hadn’t kissed you.” Her mouth drops even lower. “Not that I didn’t enjoy kissing you! You’re a great kisser! I just, I don’t uh… I don’t really have feelings for you like that and… I just feel bad. About everything. Lydia I am so, so sorry. Oh please don’t cry, I’m sorry!” Cry? She feels a tear slide down her cheek and ferociously wipes it away.

She is the worst human alive. She cornered this boy, used him in every sense of the word, and manipulated him into doing what she wanted him to do. And now he’s standing here and apologizing to her. To her. If she didn’t feel guilty before, and she DID, she sure as hell feels guilty now. Scott McCall is the best kind of guy and she’d tried to ruin him. She’s grateful she wore her waterproof mascara because the tears are flowing freely now. “Scott, you don’t need to apologize.” She can see that he’s about to argue so she grabs his shirt and brings his head down so his eyes meet her own. “Listen to me Scott McCall. You. Have nothing to apologize for. I was mad at Jackson and did the one thing I knew would upset him more than anything. It was a mistake and I wish it hadn’t happened. Allison is my best friend and I love her to. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He gets his stupefied look so she pats him on the cheek, brushes past him, and climbs into the silver Lexus. She doesn’t apologize much but when she does she means it.

She’s adjusting the mirrors and can’t suppress the half chuckle half groan that escapes her lips when Scott taps on the window. She has a feeling she know what he’s about to ask her and is pleased that he at least has he decency to look bashful. “You’re dirty and there’s no way your bike will fit.” He looks at her like she’s a lunatic. “Oh um, I don’t need a ride. I was actually hoping that maybe you could tutor me sometime. I don’t really have any money but I thought I could do some work for you or something.” Ho. Lee. Shit. Scott McCall has confused her AGAIN! What is the world coming to. “What in the holy hell are you talking about? Why would you want me to tutor you?!” He shrugs and looks at her with such eagerness and honesty that she is momentarily stunned. “Lydia, you’re the smartest person in the school. You’re a freaking genius! Who else would I want to tutor me?” He laughs and shakes his head as he hops on his bike and pedals away shouting a, “Just think about it and let me know,” over his shoulder.

She sits in the school parking lot for another ten minutes before she can gain control and wipe the stupid smile off her face. Lydia Martin is a genius, and it’s about damn time someone other than her noticed.

It’s the little things.

__________________

 

Scott McCall doesn’t get good grades. He has more bad ideas than good, makes terrible decisions more often than decent, and was bitten by a crazy lunatic who turned him into a werewolf. There are too many crazy huge things in his life to keep track of. It seems as if all of the big things have culminated into even bigger, more terrible, things. He sometimes hates his life.

It’s when Stiles invites him over for pizza, or when Allison laughs at his driver’s license, or when Jackson manages to actually pass him the ball during lacrosse, or when Lydia checks over his homework before he turns it in, that Scott realizes he couldn’t hate his life no matter how many big things get in his way. Because it’s the fleeting moments and the little things that really matter.


	2. Chapter 2: The Wolf Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things Scott does for the people he loves that makes them love him back.
> 
> Dumb summary. Sorry. Just a short drabble of some sweet interactions between Scott and his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people wondered why I hadn’t done anything with Derek and the Wolf Pack so I quickly did this for those who wanted it. Sorry for any errors or if it seems rushed at all. Thank you all for the positive response!

For Erica it came when people treated her like a leper.

Ten year-olds are the cruelest type of person. Because they eventually turn eleven, then twelve, etcetera etcetera. It’s a cycle that never ends and each year Erica thinks that maybe, just maybe, her peers will age mentally as well as physically. She’s always met with disappointment. She’s come to realize that there are three types of people in the world: Those who think she’s a freak, those who think she’s something to pity, and those who think she uses her seizures to get attention. Apparently kids in middle school are unable to grasp the concept that epilepsy isn’t something that can be controlled.

She’s sitting in an empty hospital hallway after a routine checkup, waiting for her parents to emerge from their private meeting with her doctor. She has a feeling that whatever words are being exchanged between the adults of her life won’t be good for her. The seizures have been getting worse, and she can already tell that her medicine cabinet is about to grow even more.

She’s inspecting the growing hole in her hand-me-down jeans when he comes ambling down the hall, carrying the ugliest looking flower she’s ever seen. It’s half dead and the few petals that are in tact are a horrible yellow-green. He’s about five feet away when he finally notices her sitting down. She half expects him to turn around and take another route to reach wherever it is he’s going. She’s always liked him more than the other kids, and she doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so he looks down at her hands and gives him the perfect opportunity to run away. 

She feels him before she hears him, almost like when she can taste the blood before she feels the tremors wrack her body. He plops himself into the chair immediately next to hers and begins talking in the controlled voice that tends to be overshadowed by his sidekick’s enthusiastic chattering. He’s talking to her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and Erica is overcome with appreciation for the boy. Because, unlike the fleeting conversations she has with other people, she doesn’t feel like she’s being pitied. He’s completely genuine and Erica realizes that Scott McCall fits into none of the categories she’s created. He’s one of a kind. He doesn’t think she’s a freak, is competent enough to understand that her seizures are uncontrollable, and doesn’t look at her as if she will break into a million pieces.

He’s twiddling with the flower, flailing it around as he chats about his mother, who apparently works at the hospital, and not caring that Erica is now staring at him mutely. He brings the flower to his nose, inhaling, and is suddenly overcome with a wracking cough. He doesn’t stop and his face is rapidly changing color. He fumbles in his pocket for something, bringing out an inhaler that he immediately drops on the floor. The medicine pops out of the contraption and Scott can’t get himself to stop coughing long enough to fix it. Erica’s quick, she always has been, and she grabs both pieces of the inhaler, puts it back together, and thrusts it in Scott’s direction.  
He grabs it eagerly, takes the required puffs, and slowly exhales. There are unshed tears in his eyes and she can’t tell if it’s from the lack of oxygen or the panic that the asthma attack caused him. His breathing becomes regular and when he meets Erica’s eyes he looks equal parts grateful and embarrassed. “Sorry. That was pretty lame. Crying over asthma when you have real problems.” Coming from anyone else she may have been insulted by, “real problems,” but from McCall it seems perfectly acceptable. “It’s okay.” She tries to give him a comforting smile, and secretly loves the fact that for once she’s the comforter and not the comforted. He smiles in return, looks at the clock, and jumps up. “Crap. I’m late.” He turns to her, smile still in place, and says, “I’ve gotta run Erica but it was nice talking to you!” He sprints away before she can respond and she suddenly feels like crying because, sitting in this empty white hallway, she’s never felt so lonely.

She hears footsteps running towards her and she looks up to see Scott, slightly out of breath, standing in front of her. She extends his hand to her and when she makes no movement, he takes her hand in his own and places the flower in it. “I was gonna give this to my friend’s mom but I give them to her every week so today I want to give it to you. You kind of saved my life after all.” He lets go of her hand, waves goodbye, and heads down the hallway again. She marvels at the fact that her hand is still warm when she looks down at the yellow flower. It’s suddenly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

It’s the little things.

____________________________

 

For Boyd it comes when, for the first time, he doesn’t feel invisible.

It’s freshman year and, once again, he’s sitting alone in the cafeteria. He’s always considered himself to be an observer, taking note of every person and every interaction that occurs around him. The lacrosse team huddles in the center of the room, warding off any people who are deemed too uncool to sit near them, let alone with them. Lydia Martin and her clique are sitting immediately to the left of their jock boyfriends, critiquing the outfits of the girls deemed to unstylish to sit with them. Boyd is probably the only one who notices the way Lydia’s eyes occasionally flit to the math geek table. Most of the other groupings are less exclusive. Kids meander from table to table, discussing homework and the upcoming house party. The only table people seem to steer clear of is his own. He’s used to it.

He’s spent most of his life alone, his parents working double shifts, no friends to speak of, or to for that matter. At 8th grade stepping up, when all the kids vote for the dumb superlative, “Least Talkative” went to Andrew Webber. Two people were sitting at Andrew’s table. Apparently Boyd is so good at flying under the radar that even the least talkative boy in school doesn’t know who he is. Boyd wouldn’t exactly say he’s unhappy, but he also wouldn’t say he’s happy either. More than anything he’s content. Impartial to the lack of friends and the constant solitude.

He’s reading the new Spiderman comic when he sees someone do a double take in his peripheral vision. Boyd assumes someone over his shoulder just did something weird or awesome because no one would notice him, let alone notice him twice. He almost, almost, jumps when someone sits in the chair across from him. He’s been the loner for so long he’s a little thrown by the sudden interaction. He feels a bizarre need to maintain his aloof façade and gives the boy a look that should have been enough to send him away.

He recognizes the boy immediately because he’s always felt a sort of kinship towards him. He only hangs out with one other boy and, while it’s still more friends than Boyd has, it’s nice that only Jackson seems to think that quantity is better than quality. Mop-head, as Boyd calls the boy in his head, waves someone over and Boyd isn’t too surprised when Chatterbox sits down. He must still look somewhat pissed because Chatterbox looks wary and slightly fearful. Mop-head on the other hand, remains completely at ease as he reaches into his backpack and pulls out the second edition of Boyd’s comic. Boyd is a little jealous to see that Chatty brings out the third edition of the series as well.

He’s not really sure what to do so he focuses his eyes back on his comic and takes a bite out of his apple. As he turns the page he can see that Mop and Chatty’s positions resemble his own, and they are completely immersed in their own stories. He finishes his own reading at the same time Mop finishes edition 2 and Chatty finishes edition 3. Mop pushes his comic towards Boyd as Chatty simultaneously pushes his towards Mop. Chatty says something about going to get curly fries and Mop merely nods his head in acquiesce, already a page into the his read. Boyd tentatively extends his hand and picks up edition 2 and flips the page open, half expecting Mop to snatch it from his grasp. Mop merely turns his own page.

Apparently Mop is kind of a slow reader because Boyd finishes his comic before the boy across from him. He doesn’t really know what he should do so he resumes scanning the cafeteria. “Here man. Sorry. Stiles hates waiting for me to finish.” Mop is holding out the unfinished comic towards Boyd and, sensing Boyd’s unease, he laughs. “Seriously man, take it. You’ll finish it before I would anyway.” Boyd wants to argue but the kid looks so earnest. He takes the comic from Mop’s hand just as Chatty returns with a tray full of food and drinks. Chatty places a Pepsi in front of Boyd and then proceeds to devour and obscene amount of food. Mop and Chatty begin discussing the character arcs in the comic and Boyd listens in, nodding and smiling in agreement.

Scott and Stiles talk for the rest of the lunch period and while Boyd doesn’t say a word, for the first time he feels included. They don’t sit with him much after but they always give him a friendly wave when they see him, and whenever new comics come out, he always finds editions 2 and 3 taped to his locker after lunch.

It’s the little things.

_______________________

 

For Isaac it comes when he’s stuck walking home in the rain in the 8th grade.

His dad was still upset about the B- he’d gotten on his last exam and Isaac didn’t want to ask him for a ride when he already knew the answer would be no. The rain is picking up but Isaac continues with his slow pace. His house isn’t too far from school, only about a mile, but Isaac doesn’t feel like getting home any sooner that what was completely necessary. If he has to walk in the rain to get a few moments of peace, he’ll do it gladly.

He’s seeing how long he can hold his breath when he notices a dirty old car pull up beside him. His mind briefly flashes to the Stranger Danger videos the school made them suffer through and he deliberately keeps his eyes focused straight ahead of him. The driver’s window roles down and he hears a woman’s voice calling out to him. Even if he weren’t pointedly ignoring her, the harsh beat of the rain would have made it difficult to hear her. He doesn’t even blink until he hears another voice calling his name. He stops walking and realizes that the car is no longer next to him. He turns around to see Scott McCall standing half outside of the passenger door and beckoning towards him. It’s the confusion more than anything that causes his feet to move towards the parked vehicle. “Hey man you want a ride?” He glances between Scott and the driver, a woman who must be Mrs. McCall, and nods dumbly.

It’s not until he’s in the car, an awkward silence filling the space, that he realizes how much quicker this ride will bring him home. “So Isaac, where am I taking you?” He meets Mrs. McCall’s eyes in the rearview mirror and sputters out a response about the library. He winces at the lie and scolds himself for being such and idiot. The library is at the edge of town and it’ll take him forever to get home after being dropped off there. “Dude, why are you going to the library? The library sucks!” Scott’s turned around and is facing him which means, when Mrs. McCall smacks her son on the head and reprimands him for his language, Scott sees him flinch. “You okay dude?” Isaac can’t very well say that the interaction between Scott and his mother reminded him of a far less friendly moment with his father, so he ignores the question and ops for another lie. “Yeah. Uh, I forgot my key so I’m locked out of the house. That’s why I’m going to the library.”

And that’s the lie that causes Isaac to end up in the McCall living room watching TV in baggy sweats while waiting for his own clothes to finish drying. He’d sent his dad a text about staying at school for extra credit, so he’s comfortable knowing that there won’t be any repercussions for arriving home late. Scott’s mom had gone to bed after ordering a pizza, apparently she was working the night shift later, and had made Isaac promise to wake her up when he needed a ride home.

An alarm goes off in the other room and Scott tosses the remote to Isaac as he leaves the room to go grab the clothes. He’s not sure what to do so he just places the remote on the table and leaves the TV playing the cartoons he’d never been allowed to watch as a kid. Scott comes back, tosses the warm clothes at his head, and says, “Get dressed dude. I have to meet Stiles in twenty.” As he’s changing Isaac tries to ignore the pang in his gut when he realizes that the night is over and the only human interaction he should expect will involve his father, no doubt upset about something new. 

Scott’s waiting by the door when he comes back. He doesn’t know what to do with the clothes and Scott seems to notice. “Oh don’t worry about it. Just chuck them on the floor, I’ll take care of it when I get home.” Isaac nods but makes sure to gently place the folded clothes on the stairs instead. “Hey, I hope it’s okay, but I don’t really want to wake my mom up just to drive you home. She barely sleeps these days and I’d just feel bad about it.” Isaac doesn’t mind at all. Mrs. McCall has been nothing but kind to him and he wants to repay her in anyway he can, it’s stopped raining so the walk won’t be too bad. He brushes past Scott and begins walking down the street. “Hey man wait up!” Isaac whips around faster than he knew he could, and sees Scott jogging up to him, slowing down and matching his pace once close enough. “What are you doing?” The question leaves his mouth and he’s a little embarrassed by how rude he sounds. “Dude, I told you. I’m meeting Stiles. I’ll walk you home and then head over to his house.”

Isaac knows that Scott’s lying to him. He can’t really bring himself to care though. They chat about nothing on the ten-minute walk and when Isaac reaches his front door, Scott turns around and throws a wave over his shoulder. Isaac watches him walk in the exact direction they just came from. Isaac knows that Scott’s house is directly in the middle of Stiles’s and his own. He knows that Stiles lives in the opposite direction of his house. He knows that Scott knows this too. But Scott’s the kind of person who’s willing to walk ten minutes out of his way because it’s the right thing to do, and because he doesn’t want Isaac to walk alone. For the first time in awhile, Isaac is smiling when he opens the front door to his home.

It’s the little things.

____________________

 

For Derek it comes when the last person he wants to see becomes the one person he needs to see.

He’s just been released from jail, he wouldn’t have been in jail in the first pace if it weren’t for the two snooping idiots who’d dug up Laura’s body, and he’s driving around town trying to blow off steam. The black Camaro was the best purchase he’d ever made because, when people aren’t looking at it in admiration, they’re looking at it with intimidation. Derek has never been much of a people person and he loves the fact that his black car is just as uninviting as he is.

He’s driving down Main Street when he sees the cheap bike that Scott rides around lying innocuously against a parking meter. A wave of anger and annoyance overcomes him and he suddenly has an overwhelming need to enact some sort of revenge against the idiot that is Scott McCall. He parks his car across the street and waits for Scott to emerge from whichever store he went in. Derek bets he’s in the donut shop. He’s a little surprised when the kid walks out of the flower shop with a bouquet of cheap looking flowers. Derek rolls his eyes when he realizes that the pitiful daisies were probably purchased for a date with the Argent girl. He’s annoyed at first but the possible embarrassment he can cause Scott in front of Allison brings a smile to his face.

Scott hops on his bike and pedals down the street. For once Derek is grateful for how unobservant Scott is because, after ten minutes driving behind him, Scott is still unaware of his tail. Scott finally veers off the road and practically falls off his bike when he comes to a stop. He doesn’t bother to lock his bike, Derek thinks it’s probably because even Scott is aware that no one would want to steal that piece of crap, and he pushes the gate open. So focused on following Scott, Derek hadn’t noticed where he was following him to. The cemetery was quiet and Derek could only watch as Scott made his way through the rows of white tombstones. It’s obvious that he doesn’t come here often because he takes his time meandering through the plots, scanning each engraving, clearly looking for someone in particular.

Scott finally comes to a halt and Derek notices that he’s standing in front of a fresh plot. He knows it’s wrong to eavesdrop but his curiosity gets the best of him and Derek uses his werewolf senses to listen in on Scott. “I just wanted to apologize and say that I’m sorry I never got the chance to know you.” The speech is succinct and Scott bends down to place the flowers at the base of the burial marker. He begins to walk back in Derek’s direction before he runs back, grabbing a few individual flowers from the bouquet, and places one at each of the surrounding tombstones. He ambles towards his bike and rides off as Derek stays hidden behind the trees. At this point he’s no longer concerned with torturing Scott, more interested in whoever was on the receiving end of those flowers. He makes his way through the cemetery and stops short when he sees the gravestone. 

He’d avoided this for a while, he didn’t want to see them like this. But here he is. Laura to his left, his parents to his right. He feels something warm on his cheek and is astounded that he doesn’t feel the need to wipe the tears away. The flowers are lying on the fresh dirt and Derek suddenly has no energy. He lets himself collapse on the ground between his family members and for a minute he just lets his eyes roam over every detail of their individual graves. He stays there for hours, switching between complete silence and length conversations he wished he’d had before. When he gets up to leave he grabs one of the flowers from the bouquet and shoves it in his pocket.

He visits his family every week from then on and every once in a while, he sees a bouquet of cheap daisies sitting by their graves.

It’s the little things.


End file.
